


air is still

by fypical



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, a whole fic of q overthinking things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 18:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fypical/pseuds/fypical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Q can’t put his finger on when Bond stopped being double-oh-seven, and started being in his flat and in his bed."</p>
            </blockquote>





	air is still

**Author's Note:**

> This is utterly self-indulgent and rather less talented than the rest of the contributions to this ship. I didn't mean to ship Bond/Q someone help.

It’s difficult to ascertain where they began; after Silva, that’s a sure thing if only because they hadn’t met before Silva.

But Q can’t put his finger on when Bond stopped being double-oh-seven, and started being in his flat and in his bed.

It’s three in the morning on a Thursday when Q comes to the conclusion that he’s in love. It’s three thirty when he decides that the conclusion is utterly stupid and childish. In his sleep, Bond tugs Q closer and presses his face into Q’s hair.

Q resigns himself to stupid childishness, if this is the reward for it.

\----

“I could die on this one, you know,” Bond murmurs in his ear, as if he isn’t the resident Lazarus. Q makes a disbelieving sort of sound, and he can feel Bond’s face contorting into some sort of offended expression.

“I could,” he insists, and there’s petulance in his tone, now. “And I don’t even know your real name.”

“Then I suppose you shouldn’t run headlong into life or death situations while you’re away,” Q returns mildly. Bond hums, amused.

“Have to keep you on your toes.”

\----

Bond doesn’t die, not that anyone at MI6 expects him to anymore. At least not permanently. M will give him hell for disobeying directives, as if he’ll listen, and Eve won’t speak to him for a week, as if that’ll do anything.

He turns up in Q’s flat, and Q’s not stupid (not about missions, anyway), he knows not all the blood on Bond’s shirt is his own.

But some of it is.

It’s an odd thing, being angry because one’s concerned or worried (or in love, stupid concept that it is). Bond even looks surprised by the ferocity in Q’s eyes, and Q will be proud later of the fact that he made double-oh-seven take a step back.

“You absolute _idiot_ ,” he hears himself hissing. Bond offers a bone-tired smile. Q ends up stitching the knife wound in Bond’s shoulder despite himself.

“Now will you tell me your name?” Bond breathes against Q’s mouth later that night. Q huffs and bites at Bond’s lips.

\----

Bond is terribly open about some things, for a spy.

His troublesome habit of breaking into personal files of colleagues (and bedmates) is something he carries around like a badge of honour. He knows where Eve went to school and what exactly M went through at the hands of the IRA.

“Geoffrey,” he whispers one night. Q has to resist the urge to hit him, both because it won’t end well for him and because Bond can’t possibly know how long he _hasn’t_ been Geoffrey.

\----

Bond disappears three miles from the meet-up point. Or, at least, that’s when the signal of the tracking chip in his shoulder goes dead.

Q shouldn’t be as shocked as he is.

After all, Bond worked out his name. He must have known. Q ought to have done, as well.

\----

He gets a postcard, from Switzerland.

_You should get over your fear of flying. Eurail’s far too tedious._

_-J_

Stupid and childish though both Bond and what Q’s given in and called love may be, Q gets on the plane. He texts Bond’s old number before they take off.

_If I survive this, you had better be at the gate._

Bond is.


End file.
